


and drown, but I will not sink

by mikkal



Series: at least I had the strength to fight [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood and Injury, Fist Fights, Food Issues, Hurt Noctis, Hurt/Comfort, Starvation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: They left Insomnia with more crowns than gil in their pockets, never expecting to to need more than that.Now they're struggling, the walls are closing in as the Imperial Army bears down on them and their hunts are blocked by other hunters. Their money is running out, their food and their supplies dangerously low. Any day now they'll be too weak to fight, and what a way that would be to go.But, maybe Lestallum has a solution. Noctis just needs to do some less than legal things and then his friends won't have to worry about anything else. Easy enough, right?Haha. No.(hurt!noct week prompt day six: the bros run out of money and noctis has to sell himself (his body?) for gil. in a less conventional sense)





	and drown, but I will not sink

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt that is totally sexual in nature. But I don't write sexual things (minus one thing years ago for a different fandom but it wasn't actually that sexual and in my entire career as a writer it literally has only been one thing ever). So this is my twist to the prompt!
> 
> Hope you like it!

  
There’s only so many hunts they can take, only so many friendly faces that won’t sell them out to the Niffs or various mercenaries.

By the time they get to Lestallum to meet up with Iris, Jared, and Talcott again, they’re low on funds and they’re low on places they can stay at. Random motels, havens, and whatnot are okay, out of the way and not much traffic. But available caravans are decreasing and Noctis is honestly surprise they got through the Lestallum checkpoint with no hassle. The paranoia increases every time they leave and every time they have to come back.

During the various nights spent in havens, up until they make it to Lestallum, Noctis could hear Ignis muttering to himself over their budget. Occasionally Prompto would pitch in, but two pairs of eyes and two heads knocked together didn’t make the numbers any better.

Guilt churns low in his belly when he thinks about it. It’s a stress Ignis doesn’t need. It doesn’t need to be a thought in Gladio’s head. They can hunt their own meat and find their own greens, but as they run into more battlefields—Insomnia refugees not going down without a fight even this far from their home and other hunters taking jobs that depletes the gil and the meat—and starscourge tainting not just meat but plant life too, well...There’s a thinness to Prom’s face, a shake to Iggy’s normally steady hands, and Gladio’s temper gets away from him more and more often.

Jared puts them up in Leville, despite their collective protest. Talcott seems to attach himself to Noctis immediately, which is both adorable and embarrassing. For once Iris seems happier to see her brother than Noct, both of them hugging and clinging to each other as soon as they have a moment of peace.

Noctis and Prom focus on Jared and Talcott, letting the Amicitia siblings have their shared moment of relief that slowly dissolves into mourning and grief, previous meetings too quick for this peace. Talcott is all childish innocence and brightness as he pulls out a book he managed to save from the Citadel library, only a small flicker of shadows in his eyes when they drift over to Gladio and Iris. A scar, something that might fade, but now still just an open wound.

That guilt rises to his throat, making his eyes burn.

One prince isn’t worth an entire city. A city of crown citizens, a city of refugees, a city of people who should’ve been warned, who should’ve had the opportunity to live and continue living.

Ignis and Jared are in the kitchenette, talking over the sounds of pots and plates. Dinner. Food for seven instead of three. They’re going to eat them out of their own money and food with no way of paying them back.

Noct gives the book back to Talcott, bringing his hand into his lap to clasp his fingers together tightly. His stomach cramps in hunger, but he fills more sick than anything else. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing deep through his nose.

“You okay?” Prompto asks quietly, leaning in close as Talcott reads out loud quietly a line about the waterfall he’s been chattering about.

He opens his eyes and nods. “Yeah,” he says. He cuts a glance sideways at his friend. The shadows are stained darker than normal under his eyes, his freckles pale, his cheekbones sharp. He swallows. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just need some air.”

Noctis stumbles to his feet, feeling awkward and too big for his skin but too small for his bones. A weird tight feeling blooms across his chest. He grasps at it, bunching his shirt under his curled fingers.

“Noct?” Ignis calls. He’s back from the small kitchenette, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. His hair is hanging loose without gel, glasses sliding down his nose and yet he doesn’t bother fixing them. He looks just as tired as Prompto, he’s just better at hiding it. Noct knows him well enough after all this time, though. “Anything wrong?”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he repeats firmly. He can’t tell if he’s trying to convince them or himself. “I’ll be back.” Ignis steps forward only to stop when Noct raises a hand. “No. It’ll be okay. Just...give me a minute.”

Ignis eyes him carefully, gaze sweeping head to toe, then back up again to meet his eyes. “All right, then. If you’re not back in thirty, I’m sending Iris to retrieve you.” It’s spoken like a threat and Noct is more than willing to take it as one.

“If I’m not back in fifteen, eat without me.”

He feels the eyes of six different people on his back as he leaves, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets and his head bowed low. Their worry surges over him, settles on his shoulders like an uncomfortable, itchy quilt.

Lestallum is a beacon. It’s bright and bustling. People are barely dressed, whether they’re working the plant or not. The only difference is the ones working at the plant, just coming home from their shift, they’re covered in grease and dirt, goggles around their necks and gloves tucked into the waistbands of their pants.

He wanders farther from the Leville than he should have, distracted by the sights and sounds. The streets are brightly lit and dirty, but there’s reaching shadows dipping between buildings and beyond, alleyways that beckon people with nefarious darkness. Noct knows better than to let himself be led into something like that, so he doesn’t step into the shadows. But he does linger near the openings, as curious as a cat. Prompto always said he was going to get his tail stepped on one of these days, Gladio tried to train it out of him. Ignis usually just sighed, went along for the ride, and tried to minimize the fallout, something cultivated through a childhood of being pulled into thing and, surprisingly, being an instigator sometimes.

But none of them are here, so when a presence makes itself known at his back and a light shadow falls past him, he jerks forward, whirling around with his hand out to summon a weapon that he just manages to keep from appearing. A few blue soul crystals sparkle at his fingertips, but they fade quickly enough he’s sure the woman standing before him doesn’t see.

“Hey there,” she says, the smile on her lips deliberately disarming. There’s something glittering and cruel in her eyes. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing around these parts?”

Noctis takes a step back, suddenly very glad he’s not wearing any Lucian symbols—black or otherwise, his necklace tucked under his shirt and his spring equinox ring incongruously just some piece of glass with dried flowers. “Nothing. Just taking a walk,” he says quietly. He has to resist the urge to advert his eyes, something telling him that if he looks away she’ll go for the throat. “I’m not trying to be in the way of anyone.”

She claps an overly friendly hand on his shoulder and he flinches away. Her touch follows, nails digging into the thinness of his shirt. She’s got knuckle wraps on, faded and bruised up. “Well, you’ve picked a bad place to not be in the way, pretty thing,” she says, a certain Lestallum lilt to her vowels. It’s like the common Cleigne accent, but there’s less of a native Lucian pull to the contestants. “You interested in some fights?”

“Fights?” he asks, feeling confused. He doesn’t hear any signs of fighting, doesn’t see anything either.

The woman laughs, her head thrown back and her whole body shaking. She laughs like Gladio, his stomach sours at the thought. “Can’t full up advertise back-alley fights, pretty thing.” She seems to like saying ‘pretty thing,’ rolling the ‘pr’ over her tongue, dragging it out. “That’s how you get shut down. But you. Man, oh, man. I saw you just over the street. And you look like you can fight.”

“I do?”

Gladio always accuses him of being scrawny. Prompto definitely has thicker arms than him. Ignis has more defined abs than either of them, with no comparison to Gladio because that man is a behemoth.

She laughs again and reaches for his hand. He’s too shocked to pull away, allowing her to grip his palm and flip his hand over to show off his knuckles. She doesn’t have to say anything for him know what she’s trying to show him. His knuckles are scarred from fist fights with rough hunters that thought they could take the gil or the food or the hunt trophies they collected. Sometimes his weapons aren't the best course of action.

“Oh,” is all he can manage.

“Would you like to fight?” she asks slyly, seemingly to like how quiet he is. “No weapons. Fists only. Okay, well, you can kick too. And your elbows.” She grins maliciously. “And headbutts. I don’t recommend that one, though, your head doesn’t look as sturdy as the rest of ya.”

Noctis refrains from touching his head. He feels so out depth and in over his head. He doesn't know why he’s not just walking away from her.

“Is there money involved?”

Oh right, that’s why.

She sidles up to his side, bumping shoulders like they’re old friends. “If you put on a good show,” she promises. “We’ve got a betting pool going on, that decides whether you throw it or not.”

“Fixed fights,” he confirms. But, still. Gil. Money. They’ll be able to stock up on potions and food, have the means to fix one of Prompto’s more powerful guns, Ignis will have more food to cook with and be less stressed about the budget, Gladio will calm down and be less worried all the damn time, probably get him a new sword to replaced the nicked up one too damaged now to maintain at all.

“Now, if that scares you…?”

Noctis shakes his head. “No. I’m in,” he says firmly. “As long as I get the money.”

She cheers, dancing in place with a wide smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes. “You, pretty thing, just became my new best friend. I’m Rydia, by the way.”

“Gar,” Noctis offers. He’s not even confident about going as ‘Noct.’ Something tells him she’s just going to keep calling him ‘pretty thing’ anyway. “When do we start?”

“I like your enthusiasm!” Rydia exclaims. She digs into her pocket and pulls out a card, thrusting it at him. It’s simple, literally just has her name on it. No last name. “Meet me here tonight, at nine. You’ll know then whether to throw the fight or not. This will be your audition piece. If you do well, you get ten percent. Poorly, you get nothing. If we choose to continue with you, you get fifteen percent.”

Noct takes the card silently with a nod, carefully putting it in his own pocket. “It was nice meeting you, Rydia,” he says, his tone lacking any actual sincerity.

She notices and laughs again, shaking her head. “You too, pretty thing. You too.” And she’s gone, flouncing back over the street to where a vendor is selling something Noct doesn’t even look at.

See, he was right about never using his name.

He glances a the time, sighing when he realizes he has exactly six minutes to get back to the Leville before his time is up. He doesn’t want to pull Iris away from her brother. And if Iris comes, Gladio’s not far behind. And because it’s Noctis, Prompto and/or Ignis will tag along. He doesn’t want to put even more stress on their shoulders.

So he does his best to jog back to the hotel, breathing slowly and deliberately as he goes. The pain in his back and leg are a usual ache he’s use to, but it’s traveled to settle deep in his bones now, dragging him down. He doesn’t want to take anything for it, despite Ignis not-so subtly leaving pain meds around, because, being down potions, what if someone else needs it? He’s use to the pain, maybe not this bad, but he’s still use to it. He can handle it.

He makes it to the Leville and their rooms in record time, fifteen seconds to spare. Ignis and Jared made food, a big pot of stew that sits in the middle of the little table that serves as the dining room in this suite. Prompto and Talcott are having some sort of competition in cleaning and drying the dishes. Evidence that everyone ate. Gods bless Ignis, knowing Noctis was going to take advantage of that full thirty minutes.

Jared must’ve gone back to his own rooms, he’s nowhere to be seen. Iris was just leaving to her own bed when Noctis came in, her face blotchy and eyes rimmed red from her tears. She gives him a watery smile and a nod, but doesn’t come over, choosing to hide away. He doesn’t blame her.

Ignis and Gladio sit on the couch, talking quietly. They look up when the door clicks shut.

“There’s more stew in the pot,” Ignis tells him. “It’s still warm. You should eat.”

Noctis leans against the closed door, thumping his head lightly against it, closing his eyes for a second before looking at his friends. “I’m fine,” he says over the cramping and gurgling of his stomach. The stew smells heavenly, miles away from what they’ve been forced to eat lately even with Ignis’ skills. But thinking about eating it just brings back the fear that if he eats it now, what if they really can’t get food later? Saving it in the armory gives them a week extra of shelf life. It can be saved for an emergency. “I think I’m just going to take a nap. Save it for later, yeah?”

Gladio opens his mouth to protest, Ignis frowning, but Noctis waves a dismissive hand, not giving him the chance. He heads to the bedroom, finding two queens. His and Prom’s duffles on one side, Ignis and Gladio’s on another.

He checks the time before he strips to his boxers and slides under the covers. Three hours. He has three hours until he has to meet Rydia. He sets an alarm on his phone and shoves it under his pillow. His eyelids keep drooping and his just feels so tired, eyes stinging and body just begging to sleep.

Instead, he stays awake to Ignis and Gladio’s soft conversation, Prompto and Talcott’s laughter, and the gnawing realization that he’s screwed them over by just being in their lives.

When his alarm rings and buzzes two and a half hours later, he got no sleep and managed to work his nerves into a frenzy.

* * *

  
Lestallum is never dark. It’s comforting even though the lights sting Noct’s overtired eyes.  
  
He jogs over to the alley he met Rydia, as promised, and arrives three minutes early. She’s not there yet. He shoves the gnawing panic aside and leans against the brick wall of the building, shoving his hands in his pockets and tilting his head down so the brim of his cap shadows his eyes. The muscles in his thigh keeps cramping and spasming, making him grit his teeth and presses his fingers roughly in the divot of his leg. This better not be a problem.

When he had woken up, Ignis had been passed out on the other bed, glasses skewed. Prompto was using Gladio as a pillow on the couch while the big guy read a trashy romance novel. Noctis had taken Ignis glasses off for him, setting them on the bedside table, and gave Gladio a tight smile when he walked past. He’d answered his Shield’s questions about where he was going with the standard ‘need to take a walk, don’t wait up,’ and while he seemed suspicious, he didn’t stop him. Which, good. He hadn’t the mental capacity to come up with a better excuse.

“Right on time, pretty thing!” Rydia cheers out of nowhere. He jumps, lurching off the wall to see her coming down the sidewalk. She laughs, bumping shoulders with him. “Man, oh, man, you’re sure are a jumpy thing. I hope that’s just a sign of your reflexes and not how observant you are.”

Noctis flushes pink at that. “Just show me where we’re going,” he says, brushing past her.

“Wow, someone's moody,” she comments.

Rydia skips ahead, turning to face him. She still bounces backwards, smiling the whole while. Noctis follows, eyes narrowing and lips thinning out into a line. Unease curls in his stomach, up to his throat, making it hard to swallow. Okay, maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe he should...just take some solo hunts, right? Easy stuff with a good handful of gil. He’d have to do a lot of them, but it’ll work out.

But…

“What’s the take look like?” he calls out.

She hums loudly. “Well, anything from 162,000 and 215,00.”

Noctis’ mouth practically starts watering at those numbers. “No kidding?”

She laughs. “No kidding,” she confirms. “But only if you perform well. That’s the key.”

He resolves to ‘perform well.’ Win or lose, whatever they want. The gil is too sweet to ignore. Ignis. Gladio. Prompto. No, he can’t let them down.

Rydia leads him down alleys into back streets that aren’t as bright as the main roads and aren’t as well maintained. Noctis shoves his hands back into his pockets, side-eying a shattered window. He’s been in the bad part of town before, back in Insomnia. Maybe not the worst part, but certainly a bad part. Prompto had lived on the edge of one.

This, this is something different.  
Insomnia’s bad parts holds no candle to Lestallum’s. People huddle with moth-chew blankets, despite the heat, in front of abandoned store fronts. Children run barefoot over rocks and worn glass, their ribs visible and their cheeks hollow. Women and men alike cough and hack like they’ve developed the plague, cringing when the light is too bright and curling up in the shadows.

Noctis’ heart goes out to them, and he wishes he could do something, anything, for these people. This place was once part of the Lucian Kingdom, and now it’s in the clutches of an empire who doesn’t care, it only cared about conquest and subjugation of the people of Eos.

Rydia leads him past them into an area that should be rightfully abandoned, but the refugee influx has seen to it that it’s not. A dilapidated warehouse sits in the center, a faded blue sign announcing it to be a storage house for a big box store that didn’t last very long after the war really got going. She takes Noctis into it, a wall of sound slamming into him before he even enters the building.

At least a hundred people, probably more, are screaming and cheering around an eight sided, makeshift fight ring made up by flimsy wood boards. Two women dance around each other in the center, bloodied and bruised. One of them hops from foot to foot, fists raised; the other stumbles, looking woozy and concussed.

Noctis watches as the less-injured woman lashes out with a high kick, catching the second one in the temple. She crumbles instantly and the crowd goes wild, surging at the wooden ring, screaming for blood. The woman still standing raises her arms in triumph, an exalted smile on her face.

Rydia makes a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. “Well, there goes one of my bodies,” she says as the downed woman is dragged out none-too gently. She grins, side-eyeing him. “Good thing I got you now, pretty thing.”

He swallows against the lump in his throat. “Was she supposed to lose?” he asks, hoping his voice doesn’t come out as thin as he thinks it sounds.

“No, she wasn’t. Doesn’t get her take now. Hopefully she won’t die, I’ve heard Marshal Leonis, from Insomnia ya know?—I’ve heard he’s been around these parts. I don’t need someone like that breathing down my neck for a dead body.” She all but chirps the sentences out, looking way too enthusiastic about all of this.

Noctis catches and buries the strangled noise wanting to escape. Rydia nudges him to a room off set from the main floor, a place that looks like it use to be a locker room for employees. Sitting on a bench sits a grey tank top and a pair of black jogging capris, just like what the two women were wearing.

“You’re fighting the woman who just won,” Rydia informs him, rocking on her heels with her hands behind her back. “And your job, is to win.”

He winces. Gods, of course. She looked like a decent fighter, her thigh muscles thick and large, putting a devastating force behind her kick. It wouldn’t have taken much to put the losing woman down, that kick could be considered excessive force. He guesses, if he has to think about it, that he has an advantage by the fact he’s not injured or exhausted from previous fights.

(No, he’s just hungry and tired and stressed and wondering about the weird blackness that spots his vision if he turns around too fast.)

“Wear those.” Rydia points to the clothes. “It’s the perfect way to tell if you have any weapons on ya. You get a set to wear whenever you’re called up. Come out into the ring as soon as you’re done. Five minutes. Got it?”

Noctis wrinkles his nose. “Got it.”

She leaves him, thank Bahamut, and he changes slowly. He opens the lockers one by one, finding most of them empty, and picks a random one to put his clothes, his necklace, and ring in. He feels weird in the clothes, tighter than he’s use to even compared to the skinny jeans Prompto convinced him to wear more often than not when they weren’t in their school uniforms.

The crowd is screaming for blood, noticeable even through the thick walls that make up the warehouse. Noctis pushes open the door, stepping into the blinding lights. Rydia is there immediately, bouncing like an excited child.

“Remember,” she says, having to shout over the roaring dim. “You have to win! And you gotta make it look good. You don’t let them tap out. The only way these fights end, is if one of you is unconscious or dead.”

Noctis nods. If he opens his mouth, he’s just going to throw up. He steps through the crowd, Rydia acting as a bodyguard to keep him from being dragged into the swell of bodies. She’s none-too-gentle when she shoves him into the ring. He nearly stumbles to a knee, only catching himself at the last second.

He looks up to meet the eyes of his opponent. She grins at him, teeth bloody and a wild look in her eye. She raises her fists and gives him a ‘come at me’ gesture, already hoping from foot to foot just like she did before the devastating kick she gave her last opponent.

Noctis steps back, sliding his feet into a sturdier stance, and raises his own hands, one pulled into a fist and the other flat palmed, fingers tight together, the tips of them pointed towards her. Every lesson Gladio drilled into his head, races through his mind’s eye. Every fight they’ve been in with human enemies since Insomnia’s fall, he reviews with a single mindedness he knows his Shield and his Advisor wished he had in relation to more than just fishing or King’s Knight.

A bell sounds, loud and ringing. He flinches, not expecting it, and pays for it when his opponent launches the almost expect kick towards his ribs. Noctis misses the initial movement, lurching back in time to for the toe of her shoe to catch him solidly. He falls against the wood boards, chest already smarting even though it wasn’t actually that much force. She smirks, laughing at him.

Noctis takes a deep breath. And then he throws himself at her, catching her by surprise in his tackle. They trade blows on the ground for a while, rolling around in the bloody dirt. He gets a punch in the face, splitting his bottom lip, pain blossoming on his cheek. He gets her on her stomach at one point, his legs wrapped around her and one of her arms pulled back at a painful angle. She twists and writhes, flipping them back over, forearm against his throat, pressing so hard he chokes.

He yanks on her arm, but she remains firm and solid. Noctis goes for her eyes instead. She reels back, spitting swears at him, one eye closed with a long, bloody scratch over it now. He somehow manages to avoid getting kneed in the groin, only to roll straight into a headlock. Noctis slaps at her arm, grunting, the toes of his feet digging into the ground for leverage. The crowd is going wild, his opponent laughs.

No.

No, he is not going to lose this fight. He’s not going to lose any fight Rydia tells him he needs to win. The gil is too good. The idea of his friends no longer having to worry about finances is too enticing.

Noctis drives an elbow sharply into her side, shoving and shoving until she has no choice but to let go. He swings around, jabbing his heel into her knee. It cracks. She stays down while he scrambles to his feet. Noct ignores the guilt curdling in his stomach as he looks at this woman. He’ll never go through with it, if he focuses on the guilt. It’s comforting to know he won’t have to kill her. He’s only killed a few humans in his life, and he...those were different circumstances. Those were life-or-death. Not for money.

She glares at him as she struggles to her feet, favoring the knee he cracked. They lunge at each other, grappling. He uses his heel to kick her feet apart, putting her legs in an awkward angle, making her put most of her weight on her bad knee. It buckles. Noctis struggles internally for half-second. A full second. Two seconds with sweat dripping down his face into his eyes. Finally, he braces himself, and kicks her knee again with as much force as possible. It snaps. She screams, her grip on him loosening. She crumbles to the ground in slow motion, dropping on her injured joint and toppling over with another scream.

She lays on the ground, clutching her knee close to her chest, tears on her cheeks. Noctis stands over her, his shadow thin and many from the flood lights surrounding them. There’s still a glint of fight in her eyes as her chin dips low as if giving him permission. Noctis raises his foot, hesitates, then brings it down hard on her face, breaking her nose. Her head slams on the ground, and she’s gone, out light a shattered light.

The crowd loses it, screaming and raving for more blood. Rydia must have spread his name, because they’re shouting ‘Gar! Gar! Gar!’ like they're in some sort of gladiator movie. Noctis’ chest heaves with his breaths, his hands shaking, his face aching.

He stumbles out of the ring when the little door swings open, blindly making his way back to the locker room. There’s blood on his split knuckles, his, hers, both of theirs. He should’ve worn wraps, he thinks faintly. Maybe next time?  
  
Noctis gets sick at that thought, throwing up in one of the broken sinks in the bathroom attached to the locker rooms. His damaged hands scream at him from gripping the cheap porcelain so tightly his knuckles turn white. His knees knock together, legs trembling. He coughs, spiting the nasty taste out of his mouth, and turns the knob on the skin for cold water. The pipes moan and groan, but nothing comes out of the faucet, so the mucus and bile just in the bowl of the sink, taunting him with his empty stomach.

“That. Was. Amazing!” Rydia crows, bursting into the room. He jumps, whirling around. “You are a natural performer. I’ll give you that. Enough of a struggle to put on a real show. Honestly, when she had you on your back and was choking you out, I was legit worried for a second.” She gets uncomfortably close into his space, a face splitting grin in place, and grabs his hand, shoving a stack of thin papers into his palm. “There we go, ten percent. Told you so.”

Noctis glances down, unable to step back. His eyes widen at the amount of gil in hand, carefully counting it based on the color of each paper. 68,000 gil, to be exact. This...He feels like he’s going to be sick again for completely different reasons. Astrals, now he can’t stop. Now he has to come back. If this is ten percent from his first fight, what’s the next cut going to look like? He’s already imagining all the meals Iggy can make with this, the sword Gladio can have in hand, the new clothes for Prompto since he lost more weight again.

How could he not come back, really?

She pats him on the shoulder, grining at his flinch. “Come back tomorrow. I won’t meet you near the alley. You’ll have to be here at the same time. Change back into your street clothes. Throw the others somewhere.” She flaps her hand dismissively. “You did good, pretty boy. Real good.”

Noctis can only stare as she bids him goodbye and flounces out of the room. He stays leaning against the sink for a little longer, trying to gain his bearings. Eventually, though, he pushes himself away and strips. He pulls on his own clothes, grimacing at the way they cling to him and itch against his skin.

No one bothers him as he leaves. Some smile at him, some look like they want to congratulate him, but they all keep their distance. It’s windy now, outside, a dry breeze twisting through the buildings. It slaps against his damaged face painfully, his eyes watering. His face aches so bad, and it’s getting increasingly harder to swallow.

Carefully, he shoves the gil into the armory, in the same spot they normally put excess gil—glad no one but him knows when the armory is accessed. Now that his hands are free, he presses his fingertips against the hollow of his throat, willing a healing spell to flow through him to smooth the damage. It takes a couple tries to get focus, his head swimming. But he manages to make it work, his throat no longer tight and he swallows some saliva once to make sure it goes down easily.

Next is his face. Noct ghosts his fingers over the split in his lip and the bruise on his cheek, both injuries healing over and leaving behind tender spots. He’s honestly surprised he’s not more injured. It doesn’t matter, really, he’s got the money, he’s heading back to the Leville in record time, and hopefully he’ll look normal enough no one wonders where he really went.

Gladio’s nowhere to be seen. Prompto’s still on the couch, fast asleep with a blanket tucked around him oddly. Must’ve been Gladio, Prompto can be a heavy sleeper some times especially with how rough they’ve been living these last few weeks. Noctis looks down at him fondly for a little bit before he runs a hand through his blond hair, rousing him slightly.

Prompto blinks up at him with bleary eyes. He yawns immediately. “Where ya been?” he asks, sleep slurred.

“Went for a walk,” Noct answers quietly. He pulls on his shoulders. “Come on, the bed’s probably more comfortable.”

The gunner follows his pushing and pulling with heavy feet and more yawning. “Another one?” he mumbles. Noct winces. “I dunno, man, that’s a Leville couch. ‘s pretty comfy.”

Noct chuckles. “I’m sure it is, blondie.”

Prompto’s easy to spill into bed and yank the duvet over him. After making sure his friend is truly asleep, he wanders back out into the main room then to the attached bathroom. Now that things are quiet and settled, his skin is starting to crawl at the dirt and sweat clinging to him.

* * *

  
The next day finds his muscles sore and whining. He’s the last one awake, of course. The sun too bright through the windows. The clock reads late-morning and he groans, rolling back over and bringing the duvet over his face. Prompto’s spot is still warm. He curls up in it, relishing the dip in the mattress that molds to his body in a way that makes him almost bliss out.

Almost, because despite his best efforts to doze back towards sleep, it just ain’t coming. It’s the buzzing of the A/C, the clang of pots, the plumbing as someone takes a shower, the murmur of the television and his friends having a conversation. His tongue tastes foul and his hair is tangling on the side of his face, itchy and distracting.

He groans again, sitting up reluctantly. Noct scrubs at his face, yawning, trying to ignore the way his hand trembles. He brushes a hand through his hair as he stumbles around the room, getting dressed. His fingers get caught in the tangle, this is why he should never go to bed with wet hair, and he spends a few minutes picking it out with his nails. It takes longer than it should, the shaking getting in the way of a good grip.

Eventually, he makes it out of the bedroom to find his friends clustered around the island bar to the kitchenette. Papers are spread out on the surface, though only Iggy and Gladio are focusing on them. Prompto’s distracted by his phone, the tapping of his fingers giving away the fact he’s playing a game instead.

They all glance up when he arrives. Noct freezes like a rabbit caught in the headlights, scared that what he got up to last night is still all over his face.

“Look-y here, Sleeping Beauty awakes,” Gladio snarks. Noct’s shoulders lose their tension and he gratefully takes the only bar seat at the island. “What did we do to be graced by his royal presence?”

Noct scowls at him without a word, pillowing his head on his arms. Prompto just laughs, that traitor, and pats a hand on his back. Ignis comments that any one of them would be worthy to play Prince Charming for Noct’s Beauty. They just laugh when Noct shoves at them a rude gesture. But he feels warm, this is the most light-hearted and content any of them have looked or been in a long time.

“What’re we doin’?”

“Hunts,” Ignis tells him. Gladio moves to pull a cup of coffee, filling it with a ton of cream and not that much sugar. “The kindness Jared has shown us, paying for our stay in the Leville, is a boon. We need to take advantage of that and use this time for some hunts, gain some funds to stockpile our curatives and food stocks.”

Noctis groans again, slumping even more to the point he’s leaning into Prompto. Gladio sets the prepared coffee on the counter surface in front of him, not so subtly pushing it towards him.

Gods, how long has it been since he’s had coffee? Even Ignis had to forego Ebony in the last month in order to save money, the first week of him going through caffeine withdrawal was a nightmare none of them want to repeat.

He slowly reaches for the handle, realizes his fingers are trembling, then goes quickly to scoop it up. He presses the rim of the mug against his lip, hard, hoping it’s enough to make it seem like he’s completely and totally steady, yep, nothing wrong here, everything’s fine.

“Any good hunts lined up?” His voice comes out raspy. Noct grimaces as he clears it.

Ignis eyes him thoughtfully, the doesn’t comment. Not yet, anyway. Instead—“There’s a pack of six saberclaws bothering groups of people seeking refuge in Lestallum’s lights. Bounty is 10,000 gil.”

Almost pocket change compared to what he got last night. The tightness he’s been feeling in his chest since he took the money loosens a bit—not all the way, just a little bit. They take hunts, he takes fights. The combined gil will make their pockets fuller than they’ve ever been since they had to switch fully to gil instead of crowns after Insomnia’s fall.

It takes him a second to realize the silence following Ignis’ statement is the guys waiting for his go ahead. His cheeks warm in embarrassment.

“Sounds good,” he murmurs into his coffee.

Gladio nods approvingly. Prompto presses closer to his side, stealing his coffee to take a sip. He wrinkles his nose at the flavor. Noctis snorts and takes it back. Prompto’s never liked coffee unless it had chocolate and the flavor of the season pumped into it. It’s a miracle he didn’t just spit his mouthful right back into the mug. Probably why Gladio added more cream than normal.

Ignis slides a bowl of steaming oatmeal in front of him, filled with blackberries and raspberries, topped with chopped almonds, all from the market. He wonders if Jared bought this food, and if he and Ignis made it together this morning. It smells faintly of spices, absolutely mouth watering. Like all of Iggy’s cooking.

Only his stomach rolls at the thought of eating. He gags a little at the imaginary feel of oatmeal on his tongue and sliding down his throat. He normally loves oatmeal, warm and filling, one of those comfort meals when he’s feeling particularly down. But, no matter how hungry he thinks he is, Noct doesn’t think he can handle it.

So, instead, he drains the last of his coffee, sets the mug in the sink, and stretches until his back pops. “Imma change,” he mumbles past another yawn. Carefully, he slides the oatmeal over to Prompto instead, nudging his hand with the ceramic. Semi-desperate to get rid of the hollowness that shows more prominently in his face. He ignores the looks everyone gives him. “Waiting on me, yeah? We’ll head out when I’m done.”

Noct leaves before they can say anything, ears straining to hear the clink of metal on ceramic. He breathes out a gusty sigh when he hears it, along with low murmuring. He’s both glad they have the energy back to talk about him and annoyed that they use that energy to talk about him. He shakes his head. The focus needs to be on getting them food and weapons and clothes and comforts, not on how annoyed he is they like to talk about him behind his back. He has never been happier that they are practically back to their old selves, yeah, for sure.

Somehow he manages to get changed and they head out of Lestallum, all without them asking about anything. Maybe he should be worried about how easily he’s dodging them, how easily they drop everything they see. Or maybe he’s just better at hiding it and he’s imagining their concerned, questioning looks.

The saberclaws are roaming around the northwest, blocking refugees who need to cross the Alnham Expanse that stretches between the Risorath Basin and Lestallum instead of taking the longer route on the main roads that goes through more Niff blockades than not or the Passes that have even more MTs gathering. Despite the monsters and the daemons, it’s much easier to go through Alnham where there’s smaller sanctuaries that don’t count as havens but still have the same sort of magic.

Of course, there’s something wrong with them. The group stops a good few feet out of the away, surveying their newest enemies. They’re making more noises than usual, pained yelping and yipping, and their movements are erratic, all over the place. If Noct tilts his head and squints, he can see a faint miasma of early-staged starscourge curling from their tusks and the horns on their back. It’s not enough to send them into darkness completely, but they are clinging to the shadows more.

Beside him, Ignis sighs, adjusting his glasses. “Of course,” he murmurs. “That would explain why the saberclaws are going out of their way to attack humans.”

Prompto worries behind them. “Do you think these are from the same pack that were attacking the ration trucks in the Pallareth Pass? Someone took that hunt yesterday.”

“It’s a possibility,” Ignis agrees. “It would explain why they’re here in Alnham specifically, they would’ve had to travel through here to meet up with the packs that roam the shores of Wennath.”

Gladio cracks his neck, summoning his sword in a flash of blue crystals. “Let’s get this over with. I’m lookin’ forward to Iggy’s cooking for real tonight.”

Ignis clears his throat. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he warns. “We need to be saving our gil, not splurging.”

Noctis summons his daggers, tossing one of them in hand. Ignis summons his own set, slightly larger and more elaborate. “They got a weakness to ice. Right, Ignis?”

“Indeed. Would you like to hand out the instructions this time, Noct?”

He hums. “Why not.” He takes a step back so he’s more in the middle of the group. “Prompto, you take potshots at ‘em. Keep them distracted. I’ll hit them with a ice flask, that’ll hit them hard enough it shouldn’t take much to take them down after that.” He glances over at Ignis for approval, grinning when he gets a proud nod in return.

Noct shouts ‘go!’ and the game is on. It all goes according to plan. Prompto gets a good angle to take the shots he needs, nailing tusks and horns, legs and, at one point, a tail with a brilliant shot. Noctis summons a two tiered ice flask—a blizzara—which is probably excessive, but he doesn’t have anything weaker and he doesn’t have the energy to sustain a blizzaga flask—which, honestly, would be more excessive.

It’s when he tosses it, that everything stops going to plan.

One of the saberclaws ended up on the fringes of the blast zone, barely getting frostbite. It turns it’s burning gaze on him specifically as the others shout their battle cries and take down the nearest monsters. Noct changes out his daggers for his engine blades just in time to keep the saberclaw’s tusks from goreing him through. He grunts when the force puts pressure on all the tender and weak muscles all over his body.

It knocks him onto his back, bearing down on him. Its claws try to gain leverage, scoring through his chest. He screams in pain, struggles even harder to keep it away from his face. A gunshot sounds out. The saberclaw reels back for a moment, blood appearing in a straight line across it’s shoulder, but then dives back in, single minded on Noct. It happens sometimes, the daemons—or half-daemons in this case—attracted by the magic running through his veins. The fact that his friends have a fraction of the Crystal’s magic in their arsenal means the burden of being a target is shared.

Just not all the time.

Prompto pulls the trigger again, catching the saberclaw in the chest. It backs up enough Noctis can pull back, and swing his sword into its neck, practically severing it in half. It gurgles, blood spilling down to soak the bottom of his shirt and the upper part of his pants completely through. It’s disturbingly warm and he feels sick.

It fall to the ground, just barely missing landing on Noct, and the scourge billows around it. The starscourge isn’t strong enough in it to take its whole body, but it renders its skeleton picked clean of flesh before the miasma disappears into the ground, destroying the surrounding grass and a small sapling just barely sprouted.

“Noct!” Prompto shouts, scrambling over.

Noctis tries his hardest to breathe through the pain, the slices on his chest pulling every time his lungs expand. Prompto leans over him on his knees, hands hovering awkwardly.

“Oh man, that’s bad,” he says. “That’s really bad.” He glances up. Noct follows his gaze, head lolling, to see Ignis and Gladio finishing up the last saberclaw together. Oh, Gods, how much of a failure is he that he couldn’t even finish off one monster? “Ignis! Noct’s hurt real bad.”

Noctis groans when they come running, pushing ineffectively at Prompto’s hands. Ignis touches his cheek, he rolls his head away from the touch. “I’m fine,” he mumbles. Gladio snorts. “No, I’m fine,” he insists.

“Forgive me, Noct, but no you’re not,” Ignis says firmly. His face is pale, eyes wide. He presses along the edges of the cuts, pulling the skin apart slightly to take a look at how deep they are. “They’ve reached bone, but it doesn’t look like anything’s broken.”

Noct gives them a lazy smile. “See, ‘m fine.”

The slightly static feeling of the armory being accessed makes him jerk in panic. Ignis goes for a potion, one of their precious few, but then Noct is pawing at his arm. He pauses, looking down at him in surprise.

“No,” he all but slurs. “No, don’t. I don’t need it.”

“C’mon, kid,” Gladio grumbles. “Now’s not the time to play stoic hero.”

He shakes his head frantically. “I don’t. We need...We need to save it. Just in case.”

Noctis lays a trembling hand on his chest directly over the wounds. His breath hitches at the flash of pain, but he bites back the whine building. He has to look for his connection to the Crystal, faint and humming with a plea to just take a moment to rest, but he finds it eventually, and directs a healing spell through it.

The wounds close until they’re smaller, almost like paper cuts that still bleed, and leave behind yellowing bruises. Ignis hooks a finger through the rips in the shirt, peering at his heal skin. He levels Noctis with an unimpressed look.

“See,” he says with a grin that he hopes comes off brighter and less brittle than it feels. He struggles to his elbows, Prompto helps him stand completely. His knees quake and knock together. “Don’t need a potion. We wrap this up at the Leville, and I’ll be fine.”

He pulls away from Prompto as if to prove even further that he’s perfectly fine. Never mind the naeusa coiling in stomach and the black spots that, yeah, were there before, but never so encroaching on his vision, never so dominating. He smiles, hopefully not too wide to give away his attempt to cover up the weariness that dragging him down, and leads the walk back to Lestallum.

His retinue follows him silently, uneasy. Noct does his best to ignore it. This isn’t about him. This is about them. At this point, it can only be about them. He knows his worth, he’s pretty sure knows it better than what most people think if the stories Luna told him when they were kids meant anything, and his worth is no more than theirs.

They cash in their bounty, Ignis folding up the gil and stuffing it in his wallet. It’s common knowledge that Noctis and Gladio should never be in charge of their finances, least they want the armory full of cup noodles and fish. Prompto is more trustworthy about it, but he always felt awkward carrying that much money around.

Ignis forces Noctis to sit on the edge of the tub when they finally make it to the Leville. They had gotten side-eyes and wide berths on their way in, people thrown by Noct’s blood soaked clothing only emphasized by the lighter colors he’s been going with lately. Noctis takes his shirt off dutifully, letting Ignis wipe up blood and make sure the wounds truly were healed enough. He sits still and silent as his advisor wraps bandages around his torso tightly enough the pressure actually feels comforting. Maybe if he does it nicely, he could ask, when they have enough gil, for a weighted blanket? He had left his in Insomnia, the idea that he wouldn’t go back never occurring to him.

He shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek. Nope, never mind. Weighted blankets are probably hard to find nowadays, and really expensive. He can’t spend gil on stupid things like that even though the weight helps his alleviate his chronic pain and helps him sleep when everything gets too much.

“Everything all right, Highness?” Ignis asks quietly from where he’s kneeled in front of him on the bathroom tile.

Noctis forces a smile. “Yeah,” he assures. “Just thinking about things.”

Ignis smooths his long fingers over the end of the bandage, making sure it stays flat. His touch lingers. “Do those things include your lack of eating? Or how little sleep you seem to be getting?”

“No,” he admits truthfully, trying to figure out a way around this. He knows its their job to worry about him, but he...it just doesn’t feel right. It hardly ever feels right, but especially now. “I was just thinking about how many hunts we’ll need to be stable enough to pay Jared back and get out of his hair.”

Ignis sits back on his heels, sighing. “I think we could exhaust all the hunts in Lestallum and still not have enough in the end.” His lips turn down. “Fortunately, Jared said it’s not required that we pay him back.”

Noctis winces. Of course Jared would say that. And he also knows that if Ignis can’t pay all of it, he’ll find a way to pay at least half. He can completely agree with that.

He stands, clutching his hands together and fiddling with his somewhat misshapen fingers. “I’m gonna finish cleaning up,” he says, gesturing to the slightly pink washcloth slung over the edge of the tub.

Ignis looks up at him with an unreadable expression, then nods, slowly getting to his feet. He touches Noct’s bare shoulder with the tips of his fingers before he leaves the bathroom completely.

As soon as the door closes, he collapses back on the tub’s edge, hands shaking uncontrollably and his breathing growing erratic. The static feeling comes back, he holds his breath as Ignis puts 5,000 gil into the armory, praying to any Astral that’s listening he won’t find the 68,000 from last night. When he doesn’t, Noctis lets his breath go with a sob, curling over.

The card still in his pocket is heavy, and soaked in saberclaw blood now. And he just...he hurts and he’s tired. He doesn’t really want to go tonight, but he has to. He has a duty, to his friends, to his country.

So, later that night, at nine. He goes. And when Rydia tells him to win. He wins.

**Author's Note:**

> This was suppose to be much longer and cor was suppose to show up. But I've gotten sick these last few days of hurt noct week. The place to stop this felt like a good place so...yeah. Maaaaybeee I’ll do a chapter 2, but who knows honestly.
> 
> Day 7 will be posted on the make up day, day 8 (...hopefully, I’m still pretty sick and that one is not done)


End file.
